I switched on the light and looked at her. She sat up and hastily pulled up a strap of the pretty slip she’d retained while shedding the rest of her clothes—a present from Mooney, the romantic flowers-and-lingerie dispenser, I guessed, now. I wondered if it had given her some kind of perverse satisfaction to wear his intimate gift to bed with another man. Her bare shoulders were square and strong-looking, but smooth and white.
“Well, you don’t have to stare!” she protested, blushing.
I grinned. “Now she gets modest,” I said. “Now what are you doing?”
“My hair—”
“What do you want to do, spoil the effect after we’ve gone to all this trouble to make it authentic?”
She glanced at me quickly. After a moment she smiled. “Oh, is that what we were doing? I didn’t know.”
I said, “Well, you don’t want to look as if you’d been doing research in the Library of Congress, Doc. If Handsome Harold is lurking outside, you want to confirm his darkest suspicions, don’t you? Just pull on your skirt and blouse, stick your feet into your shoes, make a bundle of everything else, and dash for the stairs. Call me the minute you reach your room, so I’ll know you’re okay. The coffee shop opens at six. I’ll meet you there for breakfast.”
A minute or so later she was standing at the door rather uncertainly, hesitating to show herself outside like that, disheveled and not completely dressed. The funny thing was, she looked kind of young and pretty with her severe hairdo tumbling about her face and the color of embarrassment in her cheeks.
“Corcoran?”
“Yes?”
“I want you to know it wasn’t premeditated. I had every intention of keeping you at a very proper distance. Please believe me.”
“Sure,” I said.
If she wanted to lie for the sake of her self-respect, I wasn’t going to argue; and maybe she’d just happened to be wearing pretty stuff under the tweed tonight, even though it did seem like kind of a coincidence.
“It was seeing him and hearing him trying to tell me about misunderstandings in that smooth, patronizing way. I just had to do something to erase, well, certain memories. I hope you’re not disgusted or... or offended.”
“Offended?” I said. “Don’t be silly, Doc. It beats the hell out of chess.”
She looked startled and fled. Two minutes later the phone rang; she’d made it safely. I acknowledged her report and lay for a little while looking at the ceiling, while daylight stole into the room. She wasn’t the only one with memories to erase. At last I grimaced at my thoughts and got up to shave. I had half my face lathered when the phone rang. I went back into the bedroom and picked it up.
“You’re up early, friend,” said the voice of the local man who’d given me instructions before, the one I’d never seen. “Or were you up?”
“Do you care?”
“If I’m not allowed to sleep, why should anyone else be? I’m supposed to transmit a report on a Harold Mooney, M.D. Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Well, nothing significant. Bachelor’s, Hopkins. M.D., Hopkins. Internship, Chicago. Private practice, Pensacola since fifty-nine. Doing all right financially. Well, he should be. Apparently he’s got the bedside looks and manner, and he’s no worse a butcher than anybody else, I guess. But he’s clean as new-fallen snow. At least on a preliminary check. They’re still digging.” There was a little pause. “That’s as far as security is concerned. We’re not interested in his morals. Or are we?”
“We might be.”
“There are indications he’s something of an all-around medical charm boy, or just very, very susceptible. His office nurses aren’t picked entirely for their academic records, let’s say, and there’s a high turnover. And there have been whispers about the doctor-patient relationship in certain instances. Just whispers.”
“I see,” I said. “But there’s no chance of his being offbeat in other ways, say politically? No chance of anybody’s having got to him?”
“You supply the crystal ball, I’ll read it,” said the voice on the phone. “Chance? Sure there’s a chance. There’s always a chance. They may come up with something on thorough investigation. But this guy’s just interested in money and women as far as I can see; he’s not the kind to go haywire politically. And the material looks unpromising if you’re hunting a potential killer.”
I said, “After you’ve cut up enough dead bodies in medical school, I shouldn’t think a live one would bother you much. And doctors have access to very convenient drugs, and ways of covering things up that aren’t available to the layman. The man we’re looking for doesn’t necessarily have to be a pineapple and tommy-gun artist, you know.”
“Still, there’s better homicidal stuff around,” the voice said.
“Kroch?”
“They finally found him for you. You were right, he’s a pro alright, but they were checking the wrong lists. They were looking for someone Grandpa Taussig would be likely to recruit, someone from the regular herd, close at hand. This one is a stray from another ranch entirely.”
I said, “Meaning what?”
“Hold onto your hat,” said the voice on the phone. “Kroch used to be one of Reinhard Heydrich’s Nazi strongarm boys. An angry young man with a club, but his specialty was the pistol. He went in for small calibers, quiet and precise. Not what you’d expect from the crude physical characteristics, is it? Heydrich had great faith in young Kroch, it says here, and used him frequently. After the British elimination team got the Hangman, Kroch disappeared. Yours is the first report on him since the war. It was thought he was dead.”
“Well, he isn’t,” I said. “So he’s an ex-Gestapo bully-boy. Those former Nazis keep cropping up all over these days, don’t they? I had to go down into Mexico after one just last summer, a gent named Von Sachs who was going to establish a Fourth Reich over here, or something. He was a regulation sonofabitch, fascist style, but he handled a machete real pretty for a while.” I frowned. “Any theories on how Kroch comes to be working for the Communists, if he really is?”
“It’s not unusual. A lot of those lads didn’t care who they swung a blackjack for as long as they were paid. And Taussig would be needing a lot of manpower for a scheme as ambitious as this one. A trained goon like Kroch could set his own price, almost. Washington likes Kroch better than Mooney, friend. They want you to put the show on the road as soon as possible. If Kroch follows and the other one doesn’t, nab him.”
“Sure,” I said. “And what if they both follow? Or neither does?”
“Don’t borrow trouble. Start driving and use the mirror first. See what comes along behind. But watch yourself. This boy’s no rabbit; it’ll take more than a figure-four trap to catch and hold him.”
“It’ll take more than a harsh word to make him talk, too,” I said.
“That’s not your worry unless you want it to be. You present the body, breathing, and experts will take it from there. They’ll get it out of him. Any more questions?”
I hesitated. “One. Antoinette Vail. Is she being watched?”
“She’s covered. She hasn’t shown yet this morning. Why?”
“No reason,” I said.
I didn’t really know why I’d asked the question. Toni didn’t belong in the case, except that I’d dragged her in for a diversion. Nobody would thank me for being concerned about a kid who was just an irrelevant nuisance, not even the kid herself.
11
The coffee shop had a white tiled floor and old-fashioned-looking tables and chairs, but no booths or jukebox. I seated Olivia at a corner table, acting as if we’d just happened to meet in the doorway by accident.
She was wearing a dress this morning, I noticed. It wasn’t much to cheer about; one of the fashionably loose, baggy, blousy jobs that look very smart on a model built like a broomstick, which she wasn’t. It was some kind of brownish jersey. They tell me that knitted stuff is very practical for traveling. I’m glad to hear it’s good for something. Decorati
on-wise, it always looks like a variation of burlap to me.
Still, it was a dress and it wasn’t tweed. There were other changes.
“For God’s sake,” I said.
“What is it... Oh.”
She blushed a little and looked self-conscious. It was pink and innocuous, but it was real lipstick. Pretty soon she’d break down and powder her nose and everything. It gave me a funny feeling. I mean, after all, it was just a job for me. I didn’t really want the responsibility of guiding the woman to a new view of life.
I’d had enough of personal feelings on this job. I could still hear Antoinette’s voice: Why, I really liked you! And you set me up for this! Dr. Olivia Mariassy was just another decoy, I reminded myself firmly. Unlike Toni, she knew she was being used, but God only knew what I’d have to set her up for in the end.
“It isn’t nice to stare,” she said. “It isn’t nice to make fun of me.”
“Who’s making fun?”
“I thought a bride-to-be would naturally pretty herself up a little,” she said defensively. “We’re still getting married today, aren’t we? Wasn’t that the plan?”
“That’s still the plan,” I said. “In fact we’ve got orders from Washington to put it into execution as soon as possible. They want us to separate the sheep from the goats, or the sheep from the goat, singular. Whichever of the two follows, we’re supposed to take him and turn him over to the wrecking crew pronto.”
She glanced at me quickly. “The wrecking crew?”
“The I-team,” I said. “The interrogation team. The experts. That is, unless we want to ask the questions ourselves.”
She shivered slightly. “It isn’t very nice, is it?”
“Not very.”
“I wish there were some other way. I don’t think it’ll be a nice thing to remember, that I was a party to it and helped lure him into the trap. Whichever one of them it is. No matter if his job is to kill me, it won’t be pleasant. Is this man Taussig really so important? What’s he like?”
“I’ve never met him socially,” I said. “I gather, if you met him on the street, you might think you were looking at Albert Einstein. Well, Emil is kind of a genius, too, in his own field. As for his importance, that’s not a question you’re supposed to ask, Doc. What do you want, a long patriotic speech about how the lives of innocent people and the fate of nations all depend on somebody’s getting to Taussig in time?”
She sighed. “I know, some things you just have to accept. I’m not always happy about the uses to which science is being put these days, but I don’t stop my research for that reason.” She paused and said in the same tone of voice, “Talking about sheep—”
“What?”
“Talking about sheep and goats, we have company, Mr. Corcoran.” She was looking beyond me. She leaned forward and covered my hand with hers. “Paul,” she said, “darling—”
I got the idea. “Sweetheart!” I said, looking into her eyes with adoration.
Then Mooney was standing there with his horn-rims and heavy tweeds, looking as if he hadn’t had much sleep. Despite his haggardness, I noticed, he was smoothly shaved. I caught a whiff of some masculine-smelling lotion as I got to my feet. He raised his hand quickly.
“Please! I’m not... I just came to apologize. I just wasn’t myself last night.”
I said aggressively, “Whoever you were, that guy’s got a couple of punches coming.”
Olivia was still holding my hand. She pulled me back. “Please, darling. It’s such a lovely morning, let’s not spoil it. If Harold wants to apologize, why don’t you let him?” Her voice was smooth. She smiled at Mooney. “Go on, Harold. Apologize. Tell Paul you’re sorry you hit him when he wasn’t looking.”
I said, “He’d be a damn sight sorrier if he’d hit me when I was looking!”
“Paul! You’re not being nice. Please, darling... Go on, Harold.”
She smiled at him sweetly until he mumbled something; then she made us shake hands like two quarrelsome boys. Finally she asked him to pull up a chair and join us. It wasn’t the most pleasant breakfast I’ve ever eaten, but she enjoyed it thoroughly. She had a fine time making him squirm. It was a side of her character I hadn’t seen before, and it made me feel better. A girl with that much acid in her system wasn’t going to be hurt as easily as I’d feared.
Finally she pushed back her chair and patted my hand. “You finish your coffee, darling. I’m going upstairs to pack.” She turned to Harold. “Why don’t you come up and watch me, Harold. There’s something I want to tell you.”
I watched them rise together. Being just a slob of a Denver reporter, I didn’t get up. “I’ll be along as soon as I’ve finished,” I said.
She leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, “Don’t hurry,” she said, laughing, “and don’t be jealous, darling. I’m perfectly safe with Harold, aren’t I, Harold?”
Harold didn’t answer. He was taking in the kiss and the endearments. He’d already spotted the unaccustomed lipstick and the way she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off me, and he was obviously wishing he’d taken the opportunity to jump up and down on me with both feet last night. Whether he was truly jealous, or whether I was interfering with plans that had nothing to do with love, remained to be seen.
I watched them leave together. Olivia was prattling away happily, making him wait for the big news until they were alone. She obviously had no doubt about the nature of his feelings, and she was getting a big kick out of being able to announce her forthcoming marriage to him and tell him that he really hadn’t hurt her a bit. Quite the contrary, he’d helped her, like the ugly duckling, to discover her true, swanlike self in marriage to a fine man like me.
Well, she had it coming. It was her payment for helping us. She’d probably earn every happy, sadistic moment of it before she was through. But it was also revealing, and I couldn’t help thinking wryly that Olivia Mariassy was turning out rather different from the cool, detached, scientific personality with whom I’d been expecting to work.
The waitress refilled my coffee cup, but it just wasn’t my morning to finish anything, shaving or eating, for that damn instrument invented by Alex G. Bell. I’d just taken a couple of sips when a phone buzzed in the corner. The girl who answered it looked around, spotted me sitting there alone, and came over.
“Are you Mr. Corcoran? You’re wanted on the house phone.”
I went over fast, but not fast enough to keep from realizing that I’d slipped badly. Daylight and Kroch’s continued absence had made me careless, and I’d let Olivia go upstairs without protection, unless you wanted to count Mooney, who might be just the opposite.
“Yes?” I said into the mouthpiece. “Corcoran here.”
“Paul?” It was Olivia’s voice, but very different from the gay, bright, malicious tone she’d been using when last heard. “Paul, come up to my room right away, please!”
“Sure.”
I took the stairs rather than wait for the elevator. I had the little knife in my hand as I approached the door. It’s not a switch-blade, but there are ways of opening it fast, one-handed, just the same. I knocked on the door and went through it fast and hard when it started to open.
I could have saved myself the melodrama. There were only two people inside, Olivia and Mooney. She was the one who’d let me in. There was blood on her hands. He was lying on the bed with his coat off and his shirt-sleeve ripped away. His face was gray. There was a hotel towel under his bare arm to catch the blood that dripped from a bullet-hole in his biceps.
12
Olivia closed the door gingerly, leaving smears on the knob nevertheless.
I said, “So he’s a heel. You didn’t have to shoot him.” She glanced at me irritably. “Don’t be silly. Where would I get a gun?”
I could have told her. She hadn’t been far from the one I carry in my suitcase on several occasions during the night. But even supposing she could have swiped it for purposes of vengeance or something, one blast from that sawed-off
regulation cannon would have aroused the whole hotel. It also would have nearly torn Mooney’s arm off. He’d obviously been shot with something considerably smaller and quieter than a .38 Special. I remembered that there was a man around who specialized in small-caliber weapons, according to the report I’d just received that morning.
“Olivia...!” That was Mooney’s voice, weak and panicky.
“It’s all right, Harold. You’re not really losing much blood. Let it wash itself out.” She turned to me. “Help me off with my dress, please. Be careful, my hands are kind of messy. I don’t want to get blood all over it.” She waited while I unfastened the belt and zipper and worked the dress down her arms and, cautiously, over her hands; then she stepped out of it while I held it low. “Hang it over that chair and get my bag out of the closet, a brown leather bag,” she said.
I glanced toward Mooney. “Hadn’t he better have a tourniquet or something?”
She said, “Get the bag, Paul. Leave the practice of medicine to me, please.”
“Sure.”
She was in charge, there was no doubt about it. There was no seductive lingerie today, just a white slip without frills. Although a little bare on top, it could have been a surgeon’s gown the unself-conscious way she wore it. By the time I’d got the bag, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, examining the wound. Mooney gasped with pain and she shook her head irritably.
“Don’t be such a baby, Harold.” She glanced at me as I came up. “Just put it down there and open it. Then follow my directions carefully...”
“Wait a minute!” I said, remembering that, as far as Mooney was concerned, I was supposed to be a reasonably law-abiding character, as least where serious matters like gunshot wounds were concerned. “Wait a minute. I don’t know what the hell happened in here, but hadn’t we better call the police?”
“It was a man,” Mooney whispered. “A big, bald man with protruding ears. I’d recognize him anywhere. He was hiding in the bathroom. I told him... I protested...”
The Shadowers Page 8
